Comfort
by damonlover17
Summary: Shortly after their marriage, Francis finds himself in a difficult moment. His wife tries to support him.


She woke again from the thrashing at her side. It had become such a nightly occurrence, she didn't even need time to focus on her surroundings, before reaching over and shaking her husband awake. Francis's blue eyes opened and he became still, trying to differentiate between dream and reality. Once he let out a shuddering breath, Mary dared to put a hand on his bare chest, in a soothing gesture.

"What was it this time?" she asked in her most gentle voice.

"An uprising again. I was trying to hold on to Henry, but they were taking him from me, trying to kill him…" His voice was so low, it could barely be heard even in the dead quiet of the night.

Mary's chest tightened with grief. Her hand reached his face and rested on his cheek, the touch light but enough to make him focus on her, losing the faraway look in his eyes.

"That is not going to happen. Ever. Your people have no cause to revolt. You will be a great ruler. You already are." Mary's head rested on the pillow, her face so close to Francis's, he could feel her breath on his lips, her fingers buried in his hair and tracing the contours of his face.

King Henry had had an accident and died unexpectedly. Francis was crowned shortly after. From the first night after his father's death, he started having the nightmares. They all involved him failing in his new status. Unable to handle the incredible responsibility that was placed on his young shoulders. Letting down his people and endangering his loved ones. Mary would awaken him, and then converse with him, sometimes until dawn. He would explain his fears, his insecurities and she would console and reassure him.

During these nights their relationship had shifted. They had always loved each other, but now their love had reached a deeper level of understanding. They had started to need and relay on each other in new ways. As he had always predicted. As husband and wife.

"My father was not perfect, but he was a strong ruler. He had earned the respect of his people. And he had achieved that partly through ruthlessness. What if I don't have what it takes? Plots have been designed against me ever since I was a child, and now all it takes is one wrong political move to give grounds for a rebellion."

Mary lifted his chin to force his eyes back to hers.

"Strength can be defined in more ways than one. You're not ruthless, but you're kind and generous. Compassionate. Loyal to your people, always putting them first. It is true, you are not your father. But I think we are all grateful for that. You're better Francis. You have his shrewdness and diplomatic skills, but you use them to do far more good than he ever did. Your people can see that in you. I've seen so much hope in their eyes. All thanks to you. They already recognize you for what you are, and it won't be easy to poison them against you. All rulers make mistakes. I have, in more than one occasion. But I've learned from them and they've made me stronger. You'll realize this in time love, and I'll be with you every step of the way."

She finished her speech with a tender kiss, just lightly pressing her lips against his. Francis responded instantly deepening it, needing her physical comfort as much as her mental one. Mary was his home, his haven in a world full of manipulation, uncertainty and fear. His need for her was greater with each passing day as was his gratitude that she was his, that she loved him as desperately as he loved her. She proved that even now, with her small moan of approval and her hands roaming his body, her desire fueling his until they lost themselves in each other as they had done countless times since their wedding night. He always knew he wanted Mary, and that after their marriage she would never sleep in any bed but his, if it was his choice. What came as a wonderful surprise was that she was as insatiable as he, never turning him away, and often initiating their intercourse. Even when he was sleeping, all it took was her hand on his thigh or her lips near his ear, for him to have her pinned underneath him and indulge himself until they were both spent.

Afterward they lay intertwined, their skin damp and their hearts beating rapidly while Francis kissed her over and over, slow languid kisses all over her face and chest, reveling in the sheer joy her existence had brought into his life. Mary closed her eyes and let the soft brushes of his lips lull her to sleep, but not before she heard a husky "I love you". As if the words were wrenched from the speaker's very soul.


End file.
